


Like a Horse at Full Gallop

by fructosebat



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: F/M, One Shot, Post Episode S03E11
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-22 13:35:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6081309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fructosebat/pseuds/fructosebat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now that Abbie's returned from the catacombs, Crane keeps following her everywhere. He finally figures out why.</p><p>(OR: Ichabod Crane wakes the hell up.)</p><p>One-shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like a Horse at Full Gallop

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'ed, so apologies for any mistakes.

It was her third day back at work after her one-month/ten-month ‘vacation’ to the catacombs – she’d actually had to break out the spray cleaner and paper towels for the dust on her desk – and she was briefing herself on a new case by reading through the file. It was a recent homicide from two towns away, but it turned out the victim had been on the run from the criminal justice system due to a burglary committed in Pennsylvania. No murder case could be said to be mundane, but as this one didn’t have a supernatural element (or at least not an obvious one), Abbie was glad of a more commonplace crime to contend with in her first week back on the job.

While reading up on the criminal’s known associates in Philadelphia, there came the sound of an argument near the front door of the building.

“I’m sorry, sir, you’ll have to sign the visitors’ log—”

“I’ll only be here for a moment, I promise you.”

“Nevertheless, it’s policy. And I’ll have to buzz Agent Mills, to make sure you’re not interrupting something important.”

“I only want to drop this off – she won’t mind my intrusion, I assure you, and then I shall vacate the premises within five minutes—”

Abbie sighed. Crane’s voice was unmistakable, and he sounded about ready to launch into one of those indignant rants he seemed to almost enjoy. Setting aside the case file, she opened the door of her office and leaned out into the main entryway. “Crane, you couldn’t follow the rules this one time?”

“Ah! Lieutenant,” he began, turning to her with a warm smile.

“Agent Mills—” started the long-suffering agent.

“It’s okay, Johnson, I’ll vouch for him. He really will just be here for five minutes. Won’t you, Crane,” she said to the man in question pointedly.

“Less than that,” he promised, and started forward. Abbie stood aside to let him pass, and sent an apologetic glance Johnson’s way before closing the door. “I’ve only come to bring you lunch.” Crane was unpacking a – really, Crane? – an actual brown paper bagged lunch onto her desk, right next to the folder she’d been perusing. “I discovered a recipe for a three-bean salad in a magazine at the supermarket – did you know, Lieutenant, they sell magazines for cookery? – and it was also suggested that fruit was a good source of natural energy to get through the workday, so I—”

“This has to stop,” said Abbie to derail his steady stream of babble.

He abandoned his unpacking to turn to her. “Was I not correct in supposing you’d like the salad? I could fetch something else.”

“No, _this,_ ” she said, gesturing to him. “The following me around.”

Crane’s brow creased. “I’m sure I haven’t been—”

“Oh, you have. Believe me, you have.” She huffed, irritated. “You insisted on coming with me to pick up my dry-cleaning – ”

“I thought you might like company,” he protested.

“ – and to the corner store when I went to pick up _milk,_ you’ve cooked me dinner the past three nights – very nice of you, but I _can_ actually feed myself. And then this morning you almost followed me into the bathroom – ”

“I did stop myself before that happened, as you’ll recall,” said Crane.

“You’re hovering,” Abbie finished. “It’s got to stop.” She raised her eyebrows and said, half-joking, “You’re cramping my style, Crane.”

His mouth worked for a few seconds, then he turned briefly to the desk, hands fumbling as he rearranged the lunch he’d brought for her. “Forgive me, Lieutenant, I—with your long absence, I had…missed your company.” Crane turned back to her, looking dismayed. “I did not mean to stifle you.”

Crossing past him, Abbie perched herself on the edge of the armchair in the corner of the office, running a hand over her face. “I’m not going to disappear if I’m out of your sight. Okay?”

“I know,” he said quietly.

“Anyway, you were there when I went into the tree. As much as I hate to say it, we can’t always prevent bad things happening to each other. All we can do is our best. But I’m a big girl – I’m an FBI agent,” she said, indicating the office in which they stood. “And I promise, at the first sign of trouble, _I will call you._ ”

Crane looked as though he wished to speak, but for once he held his tongue.

“I can’t be everything to you, Crane,” Abbie said, spreading her hands. “I can’t be your whole world.”

A stricken, hurt look crossed his face, then he schooled his features to a more solemn expression. With a nod, he said, “You have my apologies. I will endeavor to stop – ‘cramping your style.’”

“I need to get back to work,” she said, after a beat. Then, “Thank you for bringing me lunch.”

“You’re quite welcome,” Crane said briefly, then, bowing his head to her, stepped out the door, uncharacteristically quiet.

Crossing her arms and feeling tired, Abbie watched him exit the building, then watched him stride away through the window. After a deep breath, she returned to the case file waiting on her desk.

***

Once safely at home, Ichabod poured himself a tumbler of whiskey from the high cabinet in the kitchen, then, settling in the chair in the living room and setting the glass on the side table, promptly forgot about it. He’d quite deliberately shut down the thoughts whirling through his mind as he made his way back to the house. Now that he came to sit away from the gazes of the many people he’d passed on his route, however, he propped his chin on his fist and allowed his mind to return to its prior line of thinking.

 _I can’t be everything to you, Crane,_ she’d said. _I can’t be your whole world._

 _But you are,_ had been the first words ready to spill from his lips. In that instant, he’d known he couldn’t voice them. After all, what had she said not four days prior, when he’d confessed his single-minded focus on securing her return?

_That’s pretty depressing._

Once more Ichabod stood, beginning to pace the length of the room. The fact of the matter was that, while he’d made a decision during her absence that he’d turn his mind to other things, that resolution had lasted all of five hours before his – Lord, his _obsession_ – with her safe retrieval had consumed him once more.

 _I can’t be everything to you,_ repeated the frustrated Lieutenant in his mind.

“But she is,” he said aloud to the empty room.

The truth hit him like a horse at full gallop, and quite unconscious of his own words, he breathed, “Oh, shit.”

 _Truthfully, Ichabod…I think you are ready. For someone. I just don’t think it’s me,_ rang Miss Corinth’s words in his recollection.

He’d spoken to Miss Corinth of his inability to make a commitment…

He had already made one, hadn’t he.

Ichabod put a clenched fist to his mouth and took a harsh breath.

It was so _entirely_ evident, when one viewed it in that light. Inconceivable that he should never have noticed his own feelings on the matter.

But then, he’d never been much good at self-reflection, nor at seeing his circumstances as others must.

In hindsight, it was all spelled out plainly…his deeply entrenched respect for all the Lieutenant’s positive qualities, such as her strength of spirit, her intelligence, her wit, her stubborn determination, her unshakeable loyalty. (Her breathtaking beauty; quite impossible to ignore.)

The gut-wrenching unconscious fear he’d felt during his nine-month furlough – soul-searching, grieving – but near the end, more than anything, the disquieting concept that the Lieutenant, come the defeat of the evils they faced, should no longer have a need or desire for him in her life.

No wonder he’d withheld from contacting her for so long. The monstrous terror of rejection from her companionship was near-paralyzing. When he’d thought she might leave to pursue a higher rank in the FBI…

Ichabod wandered the house in a daze, straightening things and dusting without any conscious awareness. When putting away a pile of books he’d left on the dining room table, he shortly considered delving into more research on Pandora’s and the Hidden One’s possible motives, and what challenges the two of them might fling in the path of ‘Team Witness’ (Miss Jenny’s term for them – it had rather caught on), then realized he hadn’t the concentration for proper study.

He unloaded the dishwasher, wiped down every surface in the home, contemplated cleaning the windows. It was only as he was unnecessarily bringing the door of the refrigerator to a shine that he abruptly realized something and let out a bark of laughter.

“I’m the ‘house spouse,’” he said to himself in great amusement. Where had his mind been for all this time he’d been committed to his Lieutenant? He was sure it was for no other than Abigail Mills that he’d polish a refrigerator without prompting.

In his stupor he entirely forgot to fix a lunch for himself, and it was only when he heard the front door open (from his position on the stairs, which he was sweeping. Because of course he was) and the Lieutenant’s voice call out “Crane! I brought takeout!” that he realized he’d neglected to eat.

“Just a moment!” he called, setting the broom against a wall.

The Lieutenant had hung up her coat and was opening various plastic containers on the kitchen counter. “Peace offering,” she said when he walked in.

“Oh?”

“I’m sorry, Crane,” she said, quite sincere. “I was way too harsh on you today. I missed you, too, you know.” Abbie regarded him with a mild trepidation. “I know I told you that I imagined you there in the catacombs with me…but it wasn’t the same as the real you. I can’t explain to you how relieved I was when you finally turned up.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant. I…once again I apologize that my presence was bothersome this past week.”

“No, no,” said the Lieutenant, laughing. “You’re not bothersome. It’s just that – I thought that after ten months of solitude I would want company ‘round the clock, but it turns out that I still need some alone time. Sometimes!” she was quick to add.

“I will make every effort to give you the time you need,” Ichabod vowed, then forcefully suppressed a nervous flinch when Abbie — when the _Lieutenant_ — took one of his hands in hers.

“I appreciate it,” she said, smiling up at him and – likely unknowingly – rubbing her thumb against his. With his newfound consideration of his regard for her, Ichabod found that every fiber of his being was focused on where their skin touched.

This could potentially present difficulties.

“I brought you curry!” The Lieutenant dropped his hand and went to the silverware drawer.

Clearing his throat, Ichabod asked, “Massaman?” While she fetched the silverware and napkins, he reached to the higher cabinet for the plates, as was their custom.

“Please,” she said, rolling her eyes, “how long have I known you now?”

As they ate dinner and chatted, things were much returned to normal, yet at the same time they were not. Ichabod found himself even more conscious than usual of the Lieutenant’s every move, every facial expression, the delightful chiming of her laughter, her sparkling wit. He was careful through the evening to observe her for any sign that his affections were returned, but in the end it remained unclear. His Lieutenant was a difficult one to read. More study of her would be required.

What a hardship.

When the evening drew to a close, he recalled once more her words to him at the FBI office: _I can’t be everything to you, Crane. I can’t be your whole world._ He had to privately disagree with her on the first statement – what a strange, frightening, and wonderful realization it was! – because clearly she _was_ everything to him. However, it was high time that his world branched out from this house and the archives.

Come morning, he’d put out his first effort.

***

Abbie spotted her sister behind the bar when she arrived. Half an hour before, she’d received a phone call from Jenny.

_“Abbie, you gotta get down to the bar and see this.”_

_“See what?”_

_“Just get down here.”_ Jenny had sounded extremely amused. _“You don’t want to miss this.”_

Now she bellied up to the bar, and Jenny saw her and hustled over, huge grin on her face. “Abbie!”

“Hi,” said Abbie, returning the smile, though hers was more curious than excited. “What’s this thing that I have to see?”

“Look!” Abbie followed Jenny’s gesture toward the door to the back room –

Where Crane was emerging in one of the uniforms the owner, Mike, had selected for the employees of the bar. Crane was carrying a large, empty square tub in front of him, and they watched him collect empty beer bottles and appetizer plates from a table, then whip the towel from the waistband of his apron to wipe the table off for the next patrons.

“What…?” asked Abbie, amazed, still watching her partner.

“I don’t know!” Jenny said. “He came in here saying something about ‘expanding his world’ or whatever, asked if Mike could give him some hours and pay him under the table.”

Now Abbie started laughing. “Crane’s a busboy?”

“You never know,” returned Jenny. “Maybe someday he’ll work his way up to waiter.”

Shooting a last grin to her sister, Abbie made her way (still a little twitchy around all these people) across the crowded room to where Crane was clearing another table.

“Lieutenant!” he greeted, lighting up when he spotted her. “I take it Miss Jenny telephoned you?”

“Can’t believe it, Crane. From Captain in the army to lowly busboy.”

“We are none of us too high and mighty for a job in the service industry,” he informed her, looking smug. “And since I am yet to acquire a ‘social security number,’ I must work what jobs are available to an undocumented immigrant. Though I _ought_ to be a citizen by now,” he grumbled, rehashing his same old complaint. “As you know, I did literally give my life for this country.”

“That’s not exactly something you can put on your application,” Abbie said. She watched him with great fondness as he attempted to sweep his hair out of his face using a shoulder, since his hands were occupied with the dish tub. Reaching out, she tucked the offending strands behind his ear for him, enjoying the soft brush of his hair against her fingers. “You know, you’re supposed to pull your hair back when you work around food. We’ll have to get you some bobby pins.”

Puzzled for a split second, Crane paused, then understanding washed over his face. “You’re teasing me.”

“A little bit,” Abbie said, laughing once more. “You’re such an easy target. Though you are supposed to keep your hair out of the food; I wasn’t lying about that. Maybe we’ll get you a hairnet.”

Crane mock-glared at her. “I have to get back to work. Or would you rather I not pull my weight in the household?”

“Go right ahead, Crane, don’t let me stop you.” She watched him as he hurried back into the bar’s kitchen to deposit his load of dishes.

Maybe getting him out of the house some would help. Because it was getting harder and harder to distance herself from Ichabod Crane.

**Author's Note:**

> This story had a lot more internal monologue stuff in it than I usually write, so here's hoping that came across as I'd hoped.
> 
> Edit: I'm sorry, but I don't plan on continuing this story. It was intended as a one-shot.


End file.
